Mace didn’t move. I lost patience.
“How dare you come between me and my band! ” I shouted.
He started to push off the bed and I don’t know what came over me (maybe temporary certifiable insanity seeping into my pores after a day with the Rock Chicks), I launched myself at him.
Ful body.
I hit him in the chest. This surprised him and he took my weight with a grunt. My head connected with his chin which was kind of painful and his arms went around me. We fel back onto the bed, me landing on Mace.
Why I decided to wrestle with Mace, both of us barely-clothed, on a pul out bed would forever remain a mystery for the ages.
But wrestle with Mace I did.
We rol ed, we tussled, the bed creaked loudly and frighteningly. We rol ed back, we tussled some more, the bed creaked louder and more frighteningly and Juno woofed, now thoroughly confused about the current state of affairs.
I tried to gain the upper hand, an impossible feat.
Mace’s long fingers wrapped around my wrists and mostly we tested each other’s strength with me losing.
Mace got on top, his face in my face, his was angry and he clipped, “Damn it, Stel a, stop. You’re gonna tear your stitches.”
“Piss off,” I shot back, not caring about my stitches, in the throes of undeniable temporary insanity, I pushed off with my foot and rol ed him again.
He rol ed me back. We tussled some more.
Looking back, it wasn’t about the band (not total y) it was about being pissed at him for leaving me. Then being pissed at the way he came back in my life. And taking out on him (even though it wasn’t his fault) the fact that I was pissed because Linnie was dead and I was shot. Not to mention him wanting me back and me knowing that couldn’t happen because I couldn’t live through him walking out on me again.
He somehow got on top with his h*ps between my legs and my hands pinned above my head.
I was defeated, I knew it and so did he.
We stared at each other both breathing heavily. Him, I would realize later, from attempting to hold back knowing if he used his ful strength, he’d hurt me. Me, I knew at the time, because I gave it everything I had.
Eyes locked, we just panted in each other’s faces.
Then, face stil angry, that anger warring with something a whole lot different, he said through his teeth, “Christ, I forgot how f**king good you feel when you’re beneath me.” At his words, something shot through me, an electrical current vibrating through every nerve and ending with a sizzle.
Then, do not ask me why, stil deep in my insanity, I lifted my head, pressed my lips against his and kissed him.
Without hesitation, his head slanted and he kissed me back, open-mouthed, wet and deep.
Oh dear.
I forgot how good a kisser Mace was.
We then tussled a different way. He let go of my wrists and our hands started bumping into to each other’s as they moved, mine over the muscles of his back, his sides, his chest, my fingers sliding up his neck and into his hair. His up my sides, in the tank, he tilted up his abs and ran his hand along my bel y, up, to cup my breast, sliding his thumb across my nipple.
Lordy be.
I moaned into his mouth.
It didn’t take long for it to get out-of-control mainly because it had been out-of-control since I threw myself bodily at him – a weird, wild foreplay. I was so turned on I was ready, beyond ready; I’d been waiting a year for this.
The feel of his mouth on mine, his sleek skin and hard muscle under my fingers, the taste of him, the smel of him, his touch, his weight.
I started to tug down my own panties. Mace rol ed to the side, I lifted my knees and he took over, yanking my underwear down my calves and over my ankles and tossing them away. He rol ed to his back, bucked his hips, pul ing off his boxers and tossed them in the direction of my panties. Then he rol ed back to me, sliding between my opened legs, his hands came behind my knees, he pul ed them high and in one smooth, long, hard stroke, he drove into me.
It felt great.
“Harder,” I demanded, my voice low, my arms wrapping around his back.
“No, Kitten, I’l hurt you,” he replied, his voice rough, up on his elbows, his fingers sifting into my hair at the sides of my head, his thrusts firm and fantastic, but control ed.
I kissed him, he took over the kiss but I got what I wanted, his control slipped and he slammed into me harder.
“Yes,” I breathed when our mouths disengaged.
One of his hands went between us, and, right where I needed it, his finger honed in, pressed deep, circled, pressed deeper, circled more.
I felt it, it was coming.
My mouth against his, I caught my breath, holding back and then I whispered, “Mace, I’m –”
“Kitten, let it go.”
I let it go.
I came, hard and overpowering, my arms tightened around him, my thighs pressed into his sides, his mouth absorbed my moans as it overwhelmed me.
No other way to describe it, it was beautiful. It had always been beautiful.
Always.
I took his final strokes, my orgasm stil tingling, my head turned to the side. His face was in my neck, his breathing was ragged. I turned my face to look at him, his head came up and his eyes caught mine. They were hot on me, hot and aroused and intense and I felt like I was the center of the entire effing universe.
Man, he had great eyes.
I slid my fingers into the back of his hair, lifted my head and pressed my open mouth against his, my other hand going to his jaw. The moment I touched his face, he lost control and groaned against my lips.
For some reason, that was even more beautiful.
We were stil both breathing heavily, coming down but he rol ed immediately after he was done, taking me with him, resting me on my unwounded side, my leg curved around his waist.
I pressed my face in his throat and held onto him tightly while his hands moved lightly across my back and I made intermittent post-Mace-made-orgasm “mms” in the back of my throat. I never did “the purr” for anyone else, but then no one had given me an earth shattering orgasm like Mace did.
We caught our breath and I tried to catch a thought and found I couldn’t. Al I wanted was for time to stop and me and Mace to be there, on Daisy’s pul out couch, locked together forever.
Before I had a chance to recover, a chance to remember this was wrong and more importantly, why, his hand slid down my side to my waist, over my hip and then gently pul ed my leg from around him. He moved away, sliding down the bed and coming up on his forearm.
I laid there, head on the bed, arms cocked and resting in front of me, staring unseeing as I felt his fingers careful y pul the dressing away from my wound. I kept my head to the bed but I tilted my chin down to watch him. My eyes focused on Mace and I watched as he looked at the wound, his jaw getting tight.